Aren’t We All Somewhere on the Spectrum of Disease?

By HANS DUVEFELT, MD (7)

The other day I saw a new patient who used to be on Lamictal, a mood stabilizer. The young man explained that he had gone through a difficult time in his life a few years ago and his primary care doctor put him on Prozac, which, as he put it “hijacked” his brain and made him “ugly, hyper and careless”. The man immediately stopped the Prozac and his doctor prescribed Lamictal, which he stayed with for about a year.

He decided to stop the new medication, because he reasoned that he didn’t have any psychiatric issues. It was just a side effect of the Prozac, which he in retrospect probable hadn’t needed at all.

Since then, he admitted, he had felt sad or unsettled in the spring and fall, but it always passed and he didn’t think his wife or anybody else noticed his seasonal mood changes.

“So, did anybody actually use the word “bipolar” in talking about what you went through?” I asked.

He winced and almost seemed teary eyed. “Yeah, but I don’t think that’s right. How can you put a label on somebody that will follow them for the rest of their life because of what their brain did when, basically and literally, they were on drugs?”

I nodded.

“Who knows how many people might react the same way if you give them Prozac”, he continued.

“I think labels can hurt sometimes, but they can also be a way of understanding how our minds and bodies work”, I began. “I don’t believe diagnoses are as cut in stone as some people like to think.”

He looked quizzical as I continued:

“Take diabetes – this country and Canada have slightly different cutoffs for what a normal blood sugar is. Or blood pressure – every few years the experts pick a different number for what’s good enough and what’s  ideal. I believe most things we call diseases are points at the extremes of a spectrum that we all fall somewhere on.”

Now he was the one nodding.

“Take mood”, I continued. “At one end of the mood spectrum there is depression and at the other there is what we call mania. Sometimes that looks like exaggerated happiness and confidence, but sometimes it is more like irritability and agitation. We can all experience any one of those moods, but usually we are somewhere in the middle. So, people are making up disease definitions depending on how far and  for how long we deviate from the middle. But if we never move an inch from neutral, that’s not necessarily being healthy – I think of that as definitely abnormal.”

“I see what you mean”, he nodded again.

“As a clinician, I think of labels as a type of shorthand or mental image that I keep in mind when I approach a problem. They help me choose treatments and they help me explain things. But I tend to be slow in sticking labels on patients or in their medical records. I read a book once called ‘Shadow Syndromes’ that makes the point that looking at the extremes of whatever spectrum we are on helps us understand ourselves and can be very empowering.”

“So, Doc, do you think I’m bipolar?” He leaned forward.

“You have the tendencies, yes, but a condition isn’t a problem until someone sees it as a problem. If neither you nor the people around you see your mood variability, not to use the stronger word ‘mood swings’ as a problem, then fine. But I, knowing what you’ve told me about how your brain works, would be a fool to prescribe Zoloft or Lexapro if you ever came to me feeling terribly depressed. I would then think of you as somewhere on the bipolar spectrum, needing a slightly different treatment approach if we wanted to lift your mood.”

“A mood stabilizer, like Lamictal”, I finsished, “can be like an insurance policy against ever having a manic episode in the future, and we usually recommend long term treatment if a person has had an episode out of the blue. But I’m not so sure it’s necessary if the episode was triggered by Prozac or any other antidepressant. I’m sure there are lots of opinions about that, but that’s what I think, especially since your episode was not severe from what you’ve told me.”

On my drive home that afternoon, I thought of the spectra I may have moved along during my lifetime. I remember my mother commenting on how I had turned into such a slob; “When you were little you were so neat, you used to line everybody’s shoes up in the entryway.”

That’s the OCD spectrum, and I guess I narrowly escaped that diagnosis…

Hans Duvefelt, MD is a primary care physician based in Maine. He blogs at a Country Doctor Writes. This post is exclusive to the Deductible. His first book “” is available from Amazon.com

How to Discourage a Doctor

By RICHARD GUNDERMAN, MD (3)

Not accustomed to visiting hospital executive suites, I took my seat in the waiting room somewhat warily.

Seated across from me was a handsome man in a well-tailored three-piece suit, whose thoroughly professional appearance made me — in my rumpled white coat, sheaves of dog-eared paper bulging from both pockets — feel out of place.

Within a minute, an administrative secretary came out and escorted him into one of the offices. Exhausted from a long call shift and lulled by the quiet, I started to doze off. Soon roused by the sound of my own snoring, I started and looked about.

That was when I spotted the document on an adjacent chair. Its title immediately caught my eye: “How to Discourage a Doctor.”

No one else was about, so I reached over, picked it up, and began to leaf through its pages. It became apparent immediately that it was one of the most remarkable things I had ever read, clearly not meant for my eyes. It seemed to be the product of a health care consulting company, presumably the well-dressed man’s employer. Fearing that he would return any moment to retrieve it, I perused it as quickly as possible. My recollection of its contents is naturally somewhat imperfect, but I can reproduce the gist of what it said:

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One of the Vulnerable

By FRANCINE HARDAWAY (6)

I will be 79 next month. What do I think? I think the country should open back up, albeit cautiously. I’m embarrassed to think that people have to up-end their lives for older people like me. For one thing I’ve lived a hell of a life.I’ve been around the world, I’ve been a mom, a foster mom, and a grandmother, and an entrepreneur besides. I have written a few crummy books.

As one of the vulnerable, I’ve been stuck in the house now for six weeks, learning every detail about the Coronavirus. I have seen only about half a dozen people who are part of my quarantine barrier: people with whom I walk my dogs outside in the morning, my roommate, my barista and the woman who sanitizes my home once a week. And that group is considered too risky for most, but I’ve always been a risk taker and I’ve known my housekeeper for 25 years. I know she will do her best not to cause my death.

What do I do all day? Mostly I exercise, walking or taking Zoom yoga. What do I wish I could do? Hang at the bar at Hillstone. When will I be able to do it? Safely, probably not for two years.

Right now Arizona is on lockdown but we are preparing to re open soon. Our case numbers are not declining although the increase has slowed. We are part of the wild west, and our social distancing is not as strict as California’s, or my daughter’s in London. For example, I took a walk along the canal near the Arizona Biltmore hotel on Sunday and there were couples laying in the grass near the putting green of the golf course. They were drinking mai tais and beers and reinterpreting social distancing in their own ways.

They were young and I’m sure they didn’t perceive themselves as vulnerable. There were also more than 10 of them and they were oblivious to the numbers. I was jealous. I don’t want to be one of the vulnerable. I wanted to join them and have fun.

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